


Darkness

by parka_girl



Category: Speed (Kpop), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parka_girl/pseuds/parka_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The power's gone out, but no one knows why. Taeha lives in an apartment building and befriends new resident Jimin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness

Everywhere is darkness, broken only rarely by the flickering of lights, off in the distance. Sungjong knows that it's because the power is permanently off that the only lights, the only ones that run all night, come from those with fuel and fuel is expensive. And it's only the rich and powerful who have the money for fuel and they don't share. In some parts of the city, very late at night, you can almost hear the sounds of the generators. But not in Sungjong's neighborhood.

Late night means darkness. It means loneliness. It means being alone. Sungjong doesn't mind being alone during the day. Or even at dusk. There are flickering candles, paper lanterns and other, older, sources of light. But night time is best left for sleeping and Sungjong can't always sleep. Ever since the crash, a week doesn't go by without at least one sleepless night. He used a whole box of candles in a month, when the darkness was still too new, before he realized what he was doing. So now he spends his sleepless nights staring out the window, waiting for daylight.

The power went out in January. It was a mild winter that changed to spring without anyone noticing. Sungjong doesn't know why there's no power -- there's still hot and cold water, ensuring that the flats in Sungjong's building are heated and the bathrooms still mostly work. There's just no electricity and, therefore, none of the things that use it function anymore. No phones, no computers, no radio, no television.

He still works in an office, downtown. It takes him an hour to walk and an hour back, unless he takes one of the few function buses that runs on rechargeable or solar batteries. But those are expensive and he only takes them when he works late. In his office, he still does filing and fills out reports. But they've changed from computer to paper and when the paper runs out, Sungjong doesn't know what they'll do. His handwriting has improved dramatically, which is one of two good things to come of the lack of power. The other is money. He still gets paid.

Money means he can pay rent. It means food from outdoor markets, clothing from stores that somehow manage to keep their businesses going. It means buying candles and matches. What little he doesn't spend he saves, for twice yearly visits to his parents. He can't move there, any more than they can move in with him. His flat is too small for the three of them. It's too empty with just him, but he doesn't want to live with his parents, not yet. The world hasn't ended yet. But in spite of money, the food, the heated floors and the regularity of work -- nothing is the same.

When he works late, the building is eerily silent and mostly dark. He checks in at the front desk and takes his allotted candle. The first six floors have windows, newly added since the darkness. The walls and steps are lined with solar powered light stripes that glow in the darkness until dawn, when they're powered again. But when he reaches the seventh floor, there are no more lights. Sometimes, when it's storming, Sungjong will use his candle, but mostly he doesn't. He's memorized the layout of the stairs and can easily, with the touch of two fingers, tell which floor he's on. Before the darkness, someone had thought to attach braille panels on each of the doors and Sungjong knows all the numbers for the floors.

His flat is on the eleventh floor, where he lived before the power went out and where he continues to stay. In the beginning, before anyone really understood what was happening, many of his neighbors left. His building, like so many, is mostly empty. Many people fled to the countryside, where there's more open space. He visited his parents, not long after the crash, but he found the darkness there worse than in the city. He felt closed in, even though he'd never been more free.

The longer the blackout goes on, and the government signs posted on the walls of the lobby to his building state it will go on indefinitely, the more people move into his building. He's noticed that they tend to be younger, his age or around it. There are young families, too, with little ones. Three floors above him, on fourteen, some of the flats have been gutted and there's a children's playroom, full of windows. His building has twenty floors, but few above the fourteenth are occupied. He's heard talk that people are thinking of gutting them and turning them into all sorts of things, like a laundry and maybe a kitchen. The roof, which Sungjong visits on occasion, is to be turned into a garden.

He knows, from talking to his workmates, that there are plenty of others who take similar control of their buildings. Often the landlords have moved from their lavish houses into the buildings. In Sungjong's case, though, the landlord was already there, living amongst them, in a room on the floor above the lobby. The lobby contains, among other things, the only working radio in the building. It's ancient, running on some sort of solar powered batteries that are hard to get. Whenever there's an important announcement from the government, the landlord sends runners, mostly little kids, to bring people to the common room.

It's at one of those meetings that Sungjong sees Jimin for the first time. There'd been a radio address about efforts to make more solar powered devices and Sungjong wasn't really paying attention, not just because he didn't understand a lot of lingo, but because of the collection of new residents off to the side. When the address was over, the landlord introduced the new residents. Jimin is one of them, a few years younger than Sungjong, but close enough that Sungjong thinks maybe they could be friends. But Sungjong doesn't see him again for almost week.

The next time they see them is on one of Sungjong's sleepless nights.

It's deep into fall and the air outside is crisp. Looking out of his window, Sungjong notices how clear the sky is. There's no moon, which means neither the view of the darkened city nor the stars will be obstructed. Sungjong pulls on his hoodie, scarf and boots. He takes a blanket, something his parents gave him that he doesn't need, unless their heat is turned off, and makes his way up the darkened stairs toward the roof. The door is locked at night and Sungjong's key works in the lock. He slips the key in, turns it, then the handle, locking it behind him as the ascends the stairs into the construction. He'd been living in the building for four years, two before the crash and now two after. The garden is well on it's way to being completed. They expect it to be finished by next fall.

But, for now it's not finished, except for one section, far from the door. This is where people go to stargaze, families with children who don't want to venture into one of the parks and older people who can't walk long distances come. Sungjong likes it, late at night, because even the most venturous of stargazers doesn't tend to come outside at two am. At least not those living in his building. He spreads his blanket on the grass, the only green on the roof, though in the darkness Sungjong can't tell if it's still green or going brown with the changing seasons. It's damp, but it doesn't seep through his blanket. He stretches out and stares into the heavens.

He's alone for maybe an hour, he loses track of time when he's on the roof but doesn't mind, when the door opens. He sits up and turns, though through the darkness he can't see anyone. He hears the lock click, at least the person knows to lock the door behind them. Then, out of the darkness and into the slight light from the stars, Sungjong can see someone. As the figure gets closer, Sungjong guesses that it must be one of the new residents. Closer yet and Sungjong recognizes it's Jimin.

"Oh!" Jimin says, startled, when he sees Sungjong.

Sungjong squints at Jimin before responding. "Expecting someone else?"

Jimin shakes his head, Sungjong can just make that out. "Not expecting anyone. Usually this is empty."

For some reason, those words startle Sungjong. "You've come up here before?"

Jimin nods, spreading out his blanket next to Sungjong's. "Every night for two weeks."

Sungjong thinks about his last sleepless night. He'd gone to the children's playroom and cleaned it, trying to wear himself out. It hadn't worked, but the parents had been grateful for his work. He hadn't been on the roof in almost a month.

Jimin's looking at him. "Do you come out here often?"

Sungjong nods, struggling to find the words to talk. His human interactions are so limited that making conversation with someone about things that don't involve work, goods, money or the crash is hard.

"I do. Did. Haven't in awhile." He manages to say.

Jimin nods and then turns away, looking out over the city, bathed in darkness. There is a silence between them and Sungjong wishes he could break it. Or at least turn away from Jimin. Eventually he forces himself to. He wraps his arms around himself, pulling his blanket up until it covers his legs.

The city stretches out before them and Sungjong has the urge to get a closer look. He stands, wrapping his blanket around him like a cap, and walks off the grass, which is on a raised bed on the roof, and toward the edge. The wall surrounding the roof was the first improvement. It's taller than most of the children, they can't climb it or fall off, at least not without help and they're never allowed on the roof unsupervised. But it's not so tall that Sungjong can't lean on it, like he does now.

He doesn't know Jimin's joined him until he speaks. "All of those lights." Jimin says, pointing out into the distance. Sungjong knows where Jimin's pointing without looking, but he looks anyway.

"Yeah?" Sungjong says, for lack of anything else to say.

"I used to live there." Jimin's voice is quiet.

Sungjong turns, startled. "You did?"

"I was enlisted, when the crash happened." Jimin's voice is quiet and Sungjong almost gapes. He'd been out for almost a year, working in the office.

"Oh?" He manages.

Jimin nods, his face serious in the starlight. "We guarded the government's generators."

"Guarded?" Sungjong asks, curious now.

Jimin hops up, sitting on the wall that keeps them from falling off. Sungjong sets his blanket down next to Jimin and then joins him on the wall.

"I was reassigned right before I was discharged." Jimin says and just when Sungjong thinks he's not going to continue talking, he does. "They change the procedures whenever one of the guard discharges."

"I thought only the rich and powerful live in the ..." He stops, not sure what to call it.

"They do." Jimin's looking over at him now. "We protected their generators and fuel, if only by proxy. Not everyone lives there." He half turns and points toward another source of light, which Sungjong's never noticed before. "Over there? That's where those who get their fuel illegally live."

"Why doesn't the military do anything about them?"

Jimin runs a hand over his face and then shrugs. "There's only so much manpower. A lot of people deserted, when the crash happened."

"Why didn't you?" Sungjong asks before he can think better of it. "Sorry, I didn't meant --" He starts, but Jimin cuts him off.

"It's fine. I didn't know what else I'd do. And then I got assigned to the guard duty. We had electricity and it was almost as if nothing happened. We even had internet, but it's not like there was anyone out there to talk to."

Sungjong had so many questions he wanted to ask, but he said nothing. He turned, facing Jimin but not looking at him. He stares into the darkness, the direction he knows there are more buildings. Occasionally he'll see a flicker of light. Someone on the streets. Or maybe through a window. At this distance, it's hard to tell.

And then the sun's coming up. Sunrise at their backs and they both slide off the wall, turning to watch it and then away before the light gets too bright. Sungjong turns to look at Jimin, who is studying him.

"Why do you come up here?" Jimin asks.

"Can't sleep." Sungjong replies. "What about you?"

Jimin gives him an almost-smile. "I'm not used to sleeping at night. I spent a lot of time guarding at night."

The lapse into silence. Sungjong looks around the roof. He notices that the grass is still a little green, the autumn hasn't quite stolen everything away. He looks back at the sun and then over at Jimin.

"I've got to go to work. I'll see you around?"

Jimin nods and Sungjong can feel Jimin's eyes on him until the door shuts behind him.

He passes one of the gardeners on his way down. They exchange nods without saying anything. The hallways are dark, but people have begun putting out tiny tea lights to keep them lit in the mornings.

Sungjong returns to his flat. He showers, eats, and then makes his way out into the morning sun and walks to work. He can't stop thinking about Jimin. Not while he's writing up his notes from earlier in the week. Not while he's filling his notes, not while he's putting together packets for his boss. He daydreams about Jimin when he's on lunch break, wondering what Jimin does while Sungjong's at work. Wondering if he's sleeping instead of working. He thinks about Jimin on his way home, opting for the long walk instead of the bus.

When he gets home, it's raining. He's soaked and rushes upstairs, forgoing his candle. He'll collect two tomorrow, unless he goes back down later in the day. His flat is warm and he hangs his clothes from the line he runs from one side of the living room to the other. He makes tea on his stove, powered by gas and matches. He doesn't know what'll happen when there's no more natural gas. He watches the rain, as the late afternoon turns to evening. He remembers what it was like, living here before the crash. When the light outside his window was from neon lights and cars clogging the roads.

Darkness comes soon, it's nearly winter after all. He lights a candle, placing it in a glass lantern that reflects the light around his apartment. He reads while he eats his ramen, the noodles made a few times a week. He buys them from a woman on his walk home. They're delicious as are the fresh herbs and vegetables she sells. She confided in him, one day when he chose to eat in her shop instead of just buying noodles and going home, that one of her neighbors has a huge greenhouse in her basement.

Sungjong sleeps well that night. He dreams of neon lights and movies.

The next week is much the same and he only sees Jimin in passing. It's not until a Saturday afternoon, rain coming down in sheets, that he talks to Jimin again. He'd hoped to go to the store, he needed matches, but he doesn't want to venture outside. Instead, he makes his way downstairs. Sometimes the front desk sells things people might need. He stands in line, between two rain-soaked teenage girls, getting their daily candles before running up the stairs, giggling. He smiles fondly after them and then approaches the desk. The young man behind the counter gives him his candle and sells him a few boxes of matches. Sungjong sticks them in a small cloth bag his mother sent him, mail they get one or twice a month. She'd made more, but Sungjong hasn't had anything to use them for yet.

He makes his way back toward the stairs, but stops, looking into the common room. There's a family, eating lunch and playing a game. He's seen them a few times and they wave at him from across the room. He waves back and glances around the rest of the room. There are people reading, the natural light is best in this room in the afternoons, even when it's pouring rain outside. But there are lights strung around the room, candles that seem to burn perfectly, in glass holders that illuminate the room as though they were electric lights. Sungjong knows that someone in the building makes them, but he hasn't figure out who.

He spares a glance at the tv, still on it's tv stand. There are candles on top, next to the radio, the only piece of technology in the room that actually works. Behind it is a window, it's angle is perfect to charge the radio's batteries, that sit on top of it's flat surface. He's lucky he lives in a place with so many trustworthy people. He knows that the landlord is careful who he lets in.

He hears a noise and turns, standing behind him, in the doorway to the courtyard that leans to the street, is Jimin. He's soaking wet and talking to someone. Sungjong makes his way toward the stairs, turning, for a just a moment, but he can't see who Jimin's talking to. He watches Jimin shake his head, annoyed, and turn around. Their eyes meet and Sungjong tries to tear his gaze away, but Jimin just offers him a sad smile. Sungjong thinks he ought to go upstairs, leave Jimin be, but he can't make himself move. Instead, he watches Jimin go to the desk, gather up his mail, a pile of candles, and some other things that Sungjong can't make out. Then Jimin turns, walking toward him.

"Hey." Jimin says. He sounds cheerful, but he's not smiling.

Sungjong tries to say hey in return, but finds he can't. Instead he says, "you okay?"

Jimin looks startled, though Sungjong doesn't know why, except maybe he shouldn't have asked that question. He starts to apologize, as they walk up the stairs, but Jimin shakes his head.

"My friends want me to move." He says, quietly.

Sungjong looks over, surprised. "Why?"

Jimin shrugs. "Rent is cheaper where they are. And they don't want me to live here, they don't think it's safe."

Sungjong's so surprised he stops walking. They're somewhere between the third and fourth floors. Behind Jimin is a window, lightning flashes, illuminating Jimin from behind. Thunder follows, making them both jump.

"I told them," Jimin says before Sungjong can reply, "that this place is safer. That they shouldn't live in an abandoned house, even if they have permission."

"They live in a house?" Sungjong's eyes go wide, he can feel his surprise on his face.

Jimin smiles for the first time. "That was my reaction when I discharged." The smile fades. "I'm not leaving here, it was hard enough getting in here."

Sungjong doesn't ask, he knows. He was lucky, he was grandfathered in and pulls his weight. He's seen other people come and go, those who endangered everyone in the building or those who lived off of them, without contributing.

"I'm glad you're staying." Sungjong finally says.

Jimin flashes a soft, almost sad, smile at him, but says nothing. They walk the rest of the way to Sungjong's floor in silence. The only sound the rain, and the thunder, echoing through the dark stairs.

Sungjong stops on his floor, fingers brushing against the braille, just to be sure. "This is my stop." He says.

"I'll see you around." Jimin says and then he's off, walking up the stairs.

Sungjong opens the door to his floor, daylight, or what's left of it, floods the hall, the windows on either end giving the hall it's light. Sungjong wonders what Jimin was like, before the crash.

A few days later, the rain's stopped only to be replaced by snow, Sungjong climbs off the bus, having opted to take it instead of walking in the cold. He looks up as he crosses the courtyard and see Jimin in a heated conversation with someone. As he walks past them, he hears snatches of an argument. Jimin catches his eye and Sungjong can see tears stuck in his eyelashes. He wants to stop, but he doesn't. Instead he hurries inside, getting in line to grab his candle. He wishes he could ask for Jimin's too, so he wouldn't have to wait, but he can't.

He sits on a bench, facing the door, and pulls out the book he picked up from the library branch near his work. They get more and more business, his librarian friend informed him. They don't have new books, and no one can afford buying books, so bookshops have donated books and their back rooms are full of endless books that need shelving. People check out books, print the librarian tells him, is all in vogue again.

Sungjong's only gotten through the introduction to his book when the door opens. He looks up and sees Jimin. For a moment Sungjong thinks Jimin is going to fall apart, but he watches as Jimin pulls himself together and get in line. It's only after he's gotten his candle that he sees Sungjong. He crosses over to him.

"Did you wait for me?" He asks.

Sungjong nods. On a whim, he makes his decision. "I have some ramen, would you like to come over for dinner?"

Jimin hesitates, glancing behind him and then nods.

Again, they don't talk as they walk up the stairs. Sungjong lights his candle on the seventh floor, not in the mood to fight the cold of the hall and the darkness. Jimin pulls the door to Sungjong's floor open and they walk down the hall, to Sungjong's room on the end. He has a corner room, with one more window than the inner rooms. He lights the candle-lamps in his kitchen, blowing out his candle and setting it with the rest, before returning to the foyer to toe his shoes off. Jimin's waiting for him, his jacket in his hand. Sungjong takes it and hangs it in the tiny closet, placing his own next to Jimin's.

"This way." He gestures for Jimin to follow him into the kitchen.

"I was dumped." Jimin blurts before Sungjong could even start the conversation.

Sungjong turns, startled. He hadn't thought Jimin liked boys. He hadn't thought about Jimin liking anyone. He'd forgotten what it was like to meet someone who liked boys.

"I'm sorry, I ..." Jimin starts, but Sungjong holds up his hand.

"By the guy you were talking to?" Jimin nods and Sungjong goes on. "Was he the guy from the other week?"

Jimin nods again. "I won't move in, so ..." Jimin trails off and Sungjong wants to cross over and hug him, but he doesn't.

"I'm sorry." Sungjong says, softly.

Jimin just nods, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting in it.

They don't talk as Sungjong prepares tea and dinner. He tries not to think about what life will be like when they run out of tea, out of food. He pushes those thoughts away and focuses on the ramen. When it's ready, which doesn't take long, he sets a steaming bowl in front of Jimin, accompanied by the tea, and then sets out another place, sitting across the small table from him. They don't talk as they eat, the apartment quiet, save from the sounds of their eating.

"That was good." Jimin says when he's finished. He looks better, Sungjong thinks.

"Thanks. There's a woman near my work who sells the noodles. She makes them herself." Sungjong gathers their dishes and washes them quickly, not wanting to use too much hot water.

Jimin stands, looking as though he's ready to go, but reluctant.

Sungjong leans against the sink, sorting through his thoughts until he can come up with coherent ones. "Do you want to say, maybe. For a bit, I mean?"

Jimin looks over, surprised.

"You don't have to be alone." Sungjong says.

Jimin nods, but says nothing.

Sungjong tosses some matches at Jimin, who catches the box deftly. "Go light the candles in the other room." They're easy enough to find.

Jimin nods, disappearing into the darkened room. As Sungjong blows out the candles in the kitchen, the living room lights up. He walks into the living room to find Jimin standing in front of one of his bookshelves, they line his living room.

"Help yourself." He offers, trying to remember the last time he had someone over here. Someone he could be interested in. Someone who wasn't there to talk business.

Jimin pulls a couple of manga off the shelf and walks over to the couch. They sit in silence, reading. At some point Sungjong realizes that Jimin's fallen asleep, his head tipped back on the couch. Sungjong gets up quietly and grabs a blanket from the back of a rocking chair that he'd salvaged from a long-lost neighbor. He drapes it over Jimin and then blows out all the candles, save one on his end of the couch. He reads until his eyes drift shut of their own accord.

When he wakes up, there's light in the room. Daylight. He looks over and see Jimin's curled up, the manga fallen to the floor after Sungjong forgot to move them when he covered Jimin up. His own neck hurts and he feels cold, but when he puts his feet down on the floor, they warm up. He shifts, trying not to wake Jimin, but it doesn't work. Jimin sits up, rubbing his face with his hands. He looks over at Sungjong, then outside, seemingly startled.

"Morning." Sungjong says, but nothing more.

Jimin nods, sleepily. Then he leans down, picking up the manga from where they fell onto the floor.

Sungjong goes into the kitchen, the flat light enough that he doesn't have to light any candles. He boils water for tea, listening to the sounds of Jimin walking around in the other room. They don't talk, not when Sungjong brings the tea to Jimin and they sit on the couch, not again when Jimin leaves, though there's a moment when they stare at each other. But neither feel the urge to speak.

Sungjong showers, readying himself for work and tries not to think about Jimin. When he gets home that evening, Jimin's there, waiting for him. He has offers of dinner and they repeat the same process, with Jimin falling asleep on the couch, next to Sungjong. It becomes a pattern, they don't talk about it, instead they just wait for each other. Until it's suddenly January. Christmas passed, with only a brief note from Sungjong's parents. And now it's the third anniversary of the crash.

Jimin is waiting for Sungjong when he goes home from work. They walk up the stairs in silence, but it's comfortable, easy. They go to Jimin's room and Sungjong sees that dinner is ready. They eat in silence again, their usual banter, about Sungjong's work and Jimin's attempts to find work, quieted by the day. And then, after they've finished, they go back downstairs. This is the first announcement since they've been spending time together, but also since the first time Sungjong saw Jimin. Every year, on the anniversary of the crash, there's some sort of program and this third anniversary is no exception.

They sit next to each other on the floor. The lights in the common room are dimmed, as much as candles can be and everyone is silent as they wait for the government to speak. The silence is long, painfully so and somewhere along the way, Jimin's hand snakes out and finds it's way into Sungjong's. They hold hands through the broadcast, which tells them nothing new, except that there's still plenty of gas. There's no progress on the electricity front, but Sungjong knows, as his fingers stroke along Jimin's knuckles, that he's pretty sure they've all resigned themselves to darkness.

They hold hands as they walk up the stairs. As they walk down the hall into Sungjong's room. The door shuts behind them and they're still holding hands. Sungjong shifts, fingers curling around Jimin, pulling at him. Jimin shifts closer, tipping his head up to meet Sungjong's and then they're kissing. Sungjong's hands along Jimin's sides, Jimin's fingers in his hair, hand against the back of Sungjong's neck.

They don't stop to light any candles, just stumble their way to Sungjong's bed. They shift and move against each other, the darkness replaced by the sounds sex. By the way Jimin looks, naked on Sungjong's bed. The way Jimin's hands slide along Sungjong's body. By the noises they make as they come. Sungjong wakes up with Jimin in his arms. He doesn't feel so alone. And then he realizes he can't remember the last time he didn't sleep through the night.


End file.
